A Child of Promise

by Jill Stengl

  “Thou art a feather,” Harry insisted, wriggling his fingers at her.

  She jumped before he was ready. He caught her, but staggered backward. She began to giggle, her face pressed against his chest. “Staggered by a feather,” she mocked.

  “I would see thee do better!” he protested. “You shall catch me the next time.” He hugged her tighter. His brows contracted; he touched her cheek gently, but he only said, “Come and see my horse.”

  Catching her by the hand, he dragged her outside toward the gelding, which pawed the ground with a hoof the diameter of Maela’s head. She pulled her hand away and retreated to the barn doorway.

  “The giant gray,” she breathed in awe. “Can you ride such a horse, Harry? Have you ridden before?”

  “I have oft ridden, but I shall not know whether I can ride this horse until I try it.” Harry took the horse’s reins, put his foot in the stirrup, and leaped lightly into the saddle.

  The horse danced in place, an impressive sight. Its neck, shoulders, and haunches bulged with muscle, and its mouth gaped and slavered as it champed the bit. It snorted and shook and rattled its tack, making far more noise than Maela liked.

  Harry’s face shone with excitement and pleasure. To Maela’s surprise, he apparently enjoyed this display. He slapped the animal’s neck and laughed aloud. “Grand fellow!”

  “I would advise thee to ride first within the pasture,” Jonas said calmly, opening the gate for Harry and the horse.

  Harry guided the horse through the gate, then gave it rein and requested more speed. The great horse nearly reared as it leaped into motion. With the sound of thunder it pounded across the field. Harry’s hat flew off; his hair lifted in the breeze. The pair disappeared into the fog.

  Maela looked at Jonas. He smiled. “Fear not, child. Harry manages the beast well. I was not certain of this horse for him, but now I know that it will do.”

  The earth shook, and horse and rider loomed out of the fog. “Would you ride with me, Maela?” Harry asked. His eyes were sparkling. Every white tooth in his mouth showed through his dark beard when he smiled.

  Maela hesitated, looking at that awesome creature. But when her eyes returned to Harry’s, she could only nod. He reached down, Jonas boosted her up, and she flew to the horse’s back. They were off again, racing through the silvery mists. The pasture sloped slightly downward. Maela wrapped her arms tightly around Harry’s waist, closed her eyes, and hid her face between his shoulder blades.

  “He is incredibly strong,” Harry exulted. “He notices not thy weight. To him, you truly are a feather!”

  “What will you call him?” Maela shouted, then gulped when the horse hopped over a small ravine.

  “I have not decided. Do you like him?”

  “I prefer my Pegasus.”

  She felt Harry’s chuckle. He slowed the horse to a walk. Maela could scarcely believe how wide her legs had to stretch to straddle its vast back. She was going to be sore after this ride.

  “I never dreamed that I should possess such a beast. He shall carry me to Lincoln within three days! He is not so very fast, but ever so strong. He will never tire, I believe.”

  A great knot formed in Maela’s chest. It had become a familiar knot during these past weeks, forming whenever thoughts of Harry’s departure recurred.

  “Thursday, I head north,” Harry told her bluntly. “I would not leave thee, but I have no choice. I shall return as soon as ever I may. You may write to me. I will write to thee.”

  “I know not whereof to write, and I know not how to send a letter.”

  “Jonas would arrange delivery for thee, I am certain. Write to me of Samson, Pegasus, the hens, and the goats. Tell me of Dudley, for I shall leave him here to protect thee. Tell of thy meetings with the brethren, of friends you have made. I would know thy thoughts and feelings, as ever, and I would share mine own with thee. I would tell thee of Laitha and Ragwort and of this horse.”

  “Saul.”

  “Come again?”

  “I suggest the name King Saul, for thy horse stands head and shoulders above his fellows.”

  Harry laughed. “Indeed he does. I accept thy suggestion with gratitude. Saul he shall be from this moment.”

  He leaned forward and slapped the horse’s shoulder. “Saul, my fine fellow, we shall return to the barn now, if you please.” He nudged the horse’s sensitive sides, and King Saul obligingly burst into a rapid trot.

  “Oof,” Maela protested, so Harry asked for a canter. Saul shifted his bulk into a higher gear, and the ride smoothed dramatically.

  Wednesday afternoon, Harry collected his pay and took leave of Sir David Marston, his family, and the servants. He was gratified by the sorrow shown on his behalf.

  “If ever you return to Suffolk, my house is open to thee—our finest guest room for my beloved brother in Christ. No fee, no honor can repay the debt I owe thee, my friend.”

  Harry flushed, abashed. Sir David chuckled, shaking his hand vigorously. “Or, should you prefer, we shall find work for thee, Harry. Lady Sarah desires a carved bedstead.”

  “Indeed, I do, Harry!” his wife agreed.

  “The coppice cottage shall ever be open for thy use—you have improved it beyond measure during thy tenure.”

  “I am hopeful of return, sir, and I thank thee for thy surpassing kindness. ’Twas an honor to serve thee. God bless thee and thy house.”

  “Return to us quickly, Harry!” little Dorcas called.

  George, Lottie, Simon, and others of Harry’s friends were equally sorry to see him go. He was touched by their kind words and wishes for his return. He had never before realized how many friends he possessed at the manor.

  He cleaned out the cottage and closed its door for the last time. The roses climbing around its door were budding; in a day or two they would burst into color. Maela’s flower garden would be desolate this year; the kitchen garden would fill with weeds. A lump caught in Harry’s throat as memories flooded over him: Maela lying before the fire with her head on Laitha’s back, milking Genevieve, laboring in her garden, romping with Ragwort, toasting bread and cheese over the fire. Together, he and Maela had turned this old cottage into a home. He was sorry to leave it.

  That night he sat before another fireplace in a ladder-backed chair that creaked ominously beneath his weight. His hands, for once, idle, he stared into the fire, his mind busily mapping out his route to Lincolnshire. Because he must skirt the marshy fens and good roads were infrequent, he estimated three long or four shorter travel days. Considering Saul’s stamina and strength, Harry hoped for three days.

  Maela sat at Harry’s feet with Ragwort in her lap; she and the dog had reconciled days before. Dudley curled around her bottom like a pillow, his long head on Harry’s foot. Laitha lay stretched upon the hearth, kicking slightly in her sleep. Rachel and Jonas also sat before the fire—Rachel knitting, Jonas polishing tools. Lane was out with Lottie again.

  As the fire crackled, Maela’s hair shimmered like an autumn wood in sunlight. Harry’s eyes rested upon it. She yawned and stretched. Harry’s eyes followed her every move.

  “At what time shall you take your leave come the morn, Harry?” Rachel asked abruptly.

  “I set out ere dawn. I shall try to make Cambridge on the morrow, Stamford the second day, and home, nigh Scamblesby, the third evening.”

  “I packed a bag of food for thee, bread, bacon, fruit, vegetables, and the like. Plenty to last thee a day or two. Have you fodder for the horse?”

  “Jonas has seen to that.”

  Rachel shook her head sadly. “Maela shall pine for thee, I doubt not.”

  “And I shall sadly miss her company.” Again he looked down at the girl. Long lashes fluttered against her pale cheeks. She would not look at him.

  “You shall have thy family and many other young companions to fill your need of fellowship, as shall Maela. Now as to accommodations this night; Lane will share his bedchamber, or you may repose here upon the kitchen hearth. Th
e sitting room is chill.”

  “This hearth is adequate for my needs.”

  Rachel nodded. “I shall find thee a blanket.”

  Maela gently put Ragwort from her lap, rose, and walked to the ladder. Without a backward glance or word, she climbed to her loft bedroom. Harry watched until she disappeared into the darkness, then turned puzzled eyes upon Rachel. Why was Maela forever leaving him alone with no explanation?

  Rachel only smiled, then rose to find the promised quilt.

  Harry lay awake long after the couvre-feu, the metal dome that protected embers during the night, was in place, and everyone else in the house had retired. He had rolled up his cape to pillow his head. Laitha and Dudley lay full length against his sides, snoring softly. Ragwort curled between his feet.

  A rustle came from the loft. Harry thought he saw movement at the top of the loft ladder, but thick darkness made him uncertain. Stealthy footsteps confirmed his suspicion. Maela was climbing down. Did she need to use the jakes?

  Her feet padded softly in the fresh reed matting. Harry saw her as a dim white figure approaching. His stomach clenched into a tight knot.

  “Maela?” His whisper made no sound.

  She knelt down beside him. Laitha whimpered and sat up, placing her paw in Maela’s lap. Maela wrapped her arm around the dog and bade her hush.

  “I could not let thee depart without a word, Harry.” She leaned close. Harry caught the scent of roses. “I could not look at thee this night lest my tears begin to flow, for I fear that I shall not look upon thy face again until we meet in heaven. Thou art my greatest blessing next to Jesus Christ, and I will love thee ever. I shall pray for thee each day that I draw breath; and if you wed another, I shall endeavor to love her as a sister though my heart does break.”

  Harry tried desperately to think of a calm, controlled answer; but when Maela’s soft lips touched his forehead, he could not check his startled gasp.

  She jerked away, staring at him. “Harry, I thought you did slumber!”

  He sat up, dropped his face upon his upraised knees, and groaned, “Would that I did.”

  Maela wept softly into Laitha’s shoulder. Silence stretched long. At length, she returned to her loft bedroom.

  Harry lay awake for a long time. Lord, I need Thy comfort and strength, for my heart is sore afflicted!

  Harry’s departure seemed almost anticlimactic. After helping Lane, Jonas, and the hireling with the morning chores, Harry ate heartily of Rachel’s wheat cakes and honey, fried salt pork, dried fig compote, and fresh milk. Rachel had insisted that he take a meal before departing. She bustled about at the fire, rosy and bright no matter the hour.

  Maela did not appear until Harry had nearly finished eating. When she did clamber down her ladder, she looked as though she had been crying throughout the night. Her eyelids were swollen, her cheeks blotched. Hair had pulled loose from her frazzled braid and dangled around her face.

  She looked desperate until her eyes lighted upon Harry. “Oh, I feared you had gone and I had missed you!” she gasped. Her hand quickly covered her lips, and color crept into her cheeks.

  Harry gulped a bite of wheat cake without chewing it well enough. It hurt all the way down. He took a drink of milk and wiped his mustache with the back of his hand. “Would I depart and not bid you farewell?” he growled. “What manner of man do you consider me, Maela?”

  She looked abashed. “I did but fear it in my dreams, Harry.”

  It was time to leave. Rising, Harry thanked Rachel and Jonas for the lodging and board. “You are kind friends indeed,” he said haltingly. “A man could not ask for better. I cannot tell you how thankful I am that Maela may stay here at your house.”

  “Thy horse awaits thee at the gate,” Lane said from the doorway. He had saddled King Saul while Harry ate.

  “Let us ask the Lord’s blessing upon thy journey,” Jonas suggested.

  They joined hands in a circle and bowed their heads as Jonas requested God’s traveling mercies for Harry. Maela’s little hand was cold in Harry’s grasp.

  “All thanks to thee, Brother Jonas,” Harry heartily shook Jonas’s hand, then embraced him. “I shall miss thy quiet wisdom and generous nature.”

  Lane shook his hand. “God give thee good journey, Harry.”

  “Harry, my boy!” Rachel hugged him. She was very soft in his arms, like a warm, living feather pillow. Tears trickled down her round cheeks as she backed away. “Come back to us.”

  Harry felt tender toward her. “Mistress Rachel,” he said softly. “I honor thy kind heart.”

  Maela held back at first, but when Harry looked lovingly at her, she threw herself into his arms and sobbed. Her held her close and pressed a kiss upon her head. “I shall love thee always, Maela.”

  twelve

  Wait for the Lord: be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord. Psalm 27:14 (NIV)

  “Thou art lost in thy mind again, Harry,” Rosalind Jameson chided her older brother. “Do you dream of your beloved?”

  Harry blinked and resumed scratching Ragwort’s back. “Perhaps,” he allowed. He sat upon the doorstep, looking out at rolling hills. It was mild for November. Evening sunlight streamed across the hilltops, leaving the vales in shadow.

  “In your mind, you do kiss her and touch her soft skin?” the girl teased unmercifully. Rosalind was lately betrothed to a local tanner, and her mind was consumed by thoughts of romance. Harry often found her company tiresome.

  “Rosalind!” their mother intervened. “Have done! Harry pines after the damsel enough without thy taunts to remind him of her. I would have thee finish the laundering, maiden. Thine idle hands give me no aid.”

  Standing in the doorway, Susan Jameson smoothed her apron over her shrinking belly. Her baby boy was now a month old, bringing the total of living Jameson children to nine. Four had died in childhood, and Horace, the eldest, just last winter, along with his wife and two children.

  Even more difficult to bear was the absence of her beloved husband, Rolf Jameson, born Raoul Inigo Diego de la Trienta. Only days before their twenty-fourth wedding anniversary, he had dropped dead in the field while sowing corn. Yet the Lord had given Susan a joy to ease the sorrow of great loss—baby Rolf was the picture of his handsome Spanish father.

  Turning up a pert nose at her older brother, Rosalind flounced off toward the river. Harry found it difficult to believe that his sister would soon be wed. She was younger than Maela and seemed too immature to consider marriage, though her pretty face and figure attracted hordes of admirers.

  “What news weighs heavy on thy mind, my son?” Susan sat beside him on the step.

  He glanced sideways at her. “News from London. Nothing to concern thee, Mother.”

  “If it brings this scowl to thy face, it concerns me.”

  Harry smiled acknowledgment, though his eyes remained worried. “I hear that Sir Hanover Trenton has fallen from grace. It is noised abroad that he made adulterous dalliance with one of the queen’s ladies-of-honor, and Her Majesty is justifiably furious.”

  “And?”

  “He has disappeared, most likely to the continent. There is a reward for his capture. I expect he would face the block.”

  “Wherefore does this hapless nobleman’s plight bring a scowl to thy face, Harry? You have minded little the executions of other nobles.”

  Harry sighed. “He is Maela’s father.”

  “Thy Maela? The maiden you love to such distraction?”

  He nodded.

  Susan blinked rapidly in surprise. “You have temerity indeed to aspire to a nobleman’s daughter. Why did you keep these particulars hidden from me these many months?”

  “She is his natural daughter, Mother. He cares for nothing but the profit she may bring him. And I purposed not to conceal the matter; ’tis simply that thy mind has been occupied with more pressing matters than one son’s marriage plans.”

  His mother pondered in silence, far from pleased, but unwilling to hurt Harry. “
She has written thee, I recall, but not since summer. Have you proposed matrimony? Are you certain quite that she has no plan to wed another? Her father might already have contracted a match.”

  “Maela would ne’er consent to wed another, and I cannot but think that friends would have sent me word had the bish—” He broke off, then resumed, “I hope that soon Maela shall be my wife.”

  Susan reached a work-worn hand to touch his hair. “I would have thee near me, Harold, but I would rather have thee content with thy lot. You have left all in order to aid your kin; you have given freely of your strength and skill for our benefit while enduring thine own loneliness. We can now survive a short season without thee, for the fields are harvested, the sheep marketed or pastured, and all is well in hand. I believe the Lord shall richly reward thee for thy faithful labor and patience. You shall ride forthwith, settle thine affairs, and return with thy bride ere the new year begins.”

  He glimpsed a twinkle in her eye as she gripped his upper arm. Her two hands together could not half span it. “Thou art grown soft and lazy from dreaming of thy love.”

  Harry couldn’t help but smile. He looked into his mother’s blue eyes and saw her pride and love for him. “You will love her, Mother. She is. . .very dear.”

  Susan leaned against her son and reached up to stroke his neatly trimmed beard. “I shall love her because you love her. When will you depart?”

  “Soon.” He wrapped his arm around her and squeezed gently. She was a sturdy woman, but to Harry she felt little and soft. Strange, that his mother should seem small when she had once cradled him in her arms. “I shall not keep long from thee again, Mother.”

  “I know. You have a tender spirit toward women, as do few among men. You are akin to thy father, and you well know how I did love him!”

  “That I do know.” Harry pressed a kiss upon his mother’s forehead.

  ❧

  “Is Lottie not a comely bride?” Hepzibah Wheeler asked, tossing rice at the newlyweds as they climbed into the rented carriage.

  “In truth, she is. Her gown matches her eyes and shows her hair to advantage,” Maela answered warmly. “Lane adores her, and his parents greatly approve the match.”